A moment in the sky

Our plane stitches its way across the sky – thrumming, humming, pushing its way through the wind. It feels like we are riding on the peddle of a sewing machine.

My youngest is still able to find comfort within the confines of her seat. Curled up in a ball. A natural contortionist, she is heavy with sleep.

My older one can’t get comfortable. I remember this age, this experience: legs not short enough to fold into the confines of the seat, and too long to let hang over the edge. The impending sense of falling off a cliff. His head is in my lap. Seatbelt adjusted to the loosest setting, occasionally jabbing him in the thigh. He makes a quarter turn, head now facing me, only to roll on his back moments later. His blanket bunches up, exposing an ankle to the cool cabin air.

I cover his ankle with my hand and marvel at these two wondrous beings, asleep in my lap, and at the impossibility of articulating the fullness of my love for them.